


Blue Lion

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abandonment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: A woman watches a man and his son from afar.





	1. Violet Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This prequel interlude story in particular takes place pre-VLD canon. 
> 
> Content Warnings: This fic, and this series in its entirety, features a main original character with a heavy emphasis on canon divergence. No other triggering content, other than child abandonment.

It’s an early August evening. The air is heady with humidity. The smell of honey and summer rain tastes lukewarm on his tongue. He sees her for the first time, walking down the dusty road. There are only a few farmhouses this far away from the town.

She wears blue jean shorts and a red shirt. Her dark hair is tied up in a side ponytail and her jean jacket looks worn around the sleeves. Her skin is tan and she has the prettiest violet eyes. She smiles at him as he waters the onions planted near the mailbox. 

“Evening, ma’am,” he says, tipping the brim of his hat.

She doesn’t speak, only smiles. A sharp cry emits from the house. Keith’s whimpers, waking up from his nap and ready for food. He looks towards the house before turning back to the woman. He furrows his brows. The woman is gone.

\--

The next time he sees her at the farmer’s market near the courthouse. Her jean jacket looks cleaner but her hands are dirty as she eats a fresh plum. The juices ooze down her hand and her fingernails grip deep into the flesh of the fruit. Keith coos from his baby carrier attached to his chest. Mick bundles some kale into his cloth bags as he pays at the makeshift cash register. 

“Cute kid,” says the cashier, a pimply teenager with braces. 

“Thanks,” Mick says, smiling as Keith drools on his clenched fist.

“Looks like his dad has an admirer,” the teenager smirks, nodding to the woman with the violet eyes. Mick looks over to see the woman smiling softly as she watches Keith. Mick’s eyes narrow and he takes a step back. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel right.

The woman feels detached and strange and too close for comfort. 

“Yeah,” Mick starts, turning back to the cashier. “Well, dad’s tired for the day.” 

The cashier rolls his eyes. When Mick turns to leave, the woman is gone. Again.

\--

He doesn’t see her until three days later. It’s raining. The morning has been murky and wet and Mick wanted to take Keith to the park today. The boy needs sunshine and warmth. He thrives in it. He wants to give his son everything. He is a gift, a mysterious and precious gift given to him after the death of his wife. He loves his son. 

When the rain breaks after lunch, he takes his son outside. Keith has started walking; he’s fast, but he stumbles and takes breaks every so often. Mick puts tiny red galoshes on Keith’s tiny feet and lets him wander outside. Keith scampers fast before falling in the wet grass. He grins, laughing and slapping his tiny hands against the earth. Mick turns only for a moment and spots the violet-eyed woman wandering up the road. She wears boots coated in mud and sand. Her hair is messy and piled atop her head. 

Keith babbles and points as she stops by the mailbox. 

Mick narrows his eyes, stepping closer to his son. He grabs Keith around the middle and hoists him on his hip, uncaring of the mud now slicking his flannel shirt. Keith smears mud around his shirt collar and smiles.

“He’s messy,” she says and her voice is rich and warm. It’s the first words she’s said to him, but they sound sweet and foreign to his ears. 

“You’re really far from town, ma’am,” he says. “Did you just move here?”

A pained expression crosses over her face. “Just for a little while.” Something beeps in her pocket, but she ignores it. 

“No one comes out here for business,” Mick says, cradling Keith so close that he struggles. He wants to be let down, but Mick won’t do it. There’s something strange about her, different and alluring, and there’s no way she would… kidnap Keith? Would she?

“I didn’t say I’m here for business,” she says.

Mick grimaces.

“What his name?” she asks.

“Keith,” he says. He grips his son closer, taking a hesitant step back. 

“Keith,” she says, like she’s testing the name out on her tongue. “Keith.”

The boy giggles and hiccoughs. For a moment, Mick thinks Keith will reach out to the strange woman. He doesn’t but the hiccoughing turns high-pitched, like a soft warble. The woman makes a sudden step forward. 

“Sorry about that,” he says. “The little man was watching National Geographic this morning. They had this special on big cats. He likes them.”

Mick notices that she’s ignoring him and that’s okay with him because he feels a droplet of rain on his cheek. He’s never been so thankful for rain. He looks down at Keith as the boy makes that soft tiger noise again. 

“I should get him back inside,” Mick says. “I don’t want him to catch a cold.”

The woman stares at Keith and he watches her slowly swallow. 

“Yes,” she says, breaking out of her reverie. “You will keep him safe.” 

Her words are bizarre and it rattles his insides. Is this… is she his biological mother? Did the woman come to check up on him? Did he pass some kind of test? He looks down at Keith, his violet eyes glimmer a light gray in the dewy air. The woman is still staring at Keith. Her gaze is soft and tender.

“Are… are you—”

Whatever is in her pocket beeps again and she looks away. She pulls out a rectangular object. It looks like a pager, but when he peers at the screen he can see the chicken scratch of another language blinking away. The letters look familiar.

“I-I have to go,” she stutters, swiping her thumb across the screen and shoving the device back in her pocket. 

“Do you want to hold him?” he asks, suddenly. “Do you want to hold him? He likes to be cuddled. It took a while for him to warm up to that, but he just likes to be held. I’m sure he’ll—”

The woman looks like she wants to cry, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears. She licks her lips and turns away. “I’m sorry, but I must leave.”

He doesn’t know why he keeps trying. 

“I have that blade you left him. I keep it wrapped up. I won’t give it to him until he’s old enough. It’s too dangerous for him to use now,” Mick says. Why? Why does he keep talking? His words stop her from walking away, so he continues. “Keith. He’s special. Those letters on your pager… they were the same style lettering from that device you left with him. It was a funny spelling so I just made it easier and named him Keith. He’s a special boy and he’s not from here, right?” 

The woman turns back, her eyes enraged. “Was it a mistake leaving him here?”

Keith gurgles on his fist, sensing the tension. Mick doesn’t stand down.

“He’s safe with me,” Mick says. “But… but where do you come from?”

“It’s better if you didn’t know,” she says. “He’s safer if he doesn’t know where he comes from.”

He’s about to say more, but she vanishes into thin air. She disappears again, leaving a wisp of black void behind.

\--

 _“…Garrison headquarters in Arizona has been under government scrutiny after the explosion at the Nevada base seven months ago. Many officers have come forth to testify in front of Corporate Congress and explain the dangerous missions the highest echelon of commanders have ordered. These commanders have said space exploration and military action in space is of the utmost importance in our post-World War Three era. The Galaxy Garrison wishes to begin colonization as early as next month, but many…”_ Mick turns down the volume to the television. 

“Well, buddy, it looks like we’re going to space soon,” Mick says. Keith gurgles in his high chair, dipping his fingers in mushy sweet custard. “Yup, today Earth, tomorrow the galaxy.”

A sharp knock at the door makes the smile drop from his face. He knows who it is, but he doesn’t want to answer it. Their last conversation didn’t end in the best way. He swallows around the hot ball of tension in his throat and then moves to open the door.

 _Violet eyes_ stands at the threshold. Today her hair is pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head. The edges are smoothed back and her eyebrows are perfectly shaped. Her high cheekbones are freckled… and he didn’t notice that before. 

“Hello, ma’am,” he says. “What brings you back?”

“I’m leaving today,” she says. “Business calls me elsewhere.” There’s a small smile at the edge of her lips but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Do you want to hold him?” 

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “It will make things too difficult.”

Mick narrows his eyes. 

“The blade,” she starts. “Give it to him when he starts puberty. My people… we become adults when we can fight in hand-to-hand combat. We relish the arena. I don’t want that for him, but he will gravitate to those types of activities. Please, I chose well. Keep him safe.”

“So… you _are_ an alien?” Mick asks, almost grinning. He wants to believe. 

She gives him a soft smile. Her pocket beeps again. 

“Will you come for him? Should I prepare—?”

 _Violet eyes_ interrupts him with a shake of her head.

“He is safer here, with you,” she says, pursing her lips over her rather sharp teeth. “You _will_ take care of him, won’t you?”

Mick nods.

\--

It’s the end of August. It’s hot and dry and not so different from back east in Georgia, but Texas has a certain air that leaves his throat parched and his voice hoarse. Or perhaps he’s just homesick. Mick has to keep his eyes on Keith or the boy will stumble around. He’s faster on his feet now, disappearing between the sofa and the armchair. He giggles when Mick finds him, bouncing and slapping his hands together in a haphazard clap.

“Da-da,” he giggles and a sharp ache lances through Mick’s chest. Keith’s first word fills him with giddiness, leaving a rich satisfaction in his bones. He loves the boy and he’ll love him until the day he dies.


	2. Knowledge or Death

Antok stays in the cave for three Earth weeks, or that’s what Larka calls them. He busies himself, moving large rocks and scratching ancient sigils into the boulders in preparation of Larka’s incantations. The Blue Lion tucks itself on its hind legs and stares listlessly at the opening of the cavern. Antok stays in the cave for three Earth weeks, while Larka parades herself across town. 

He knows exactly where she’s going, even after Kolivan ordered her not to. By the end of one Earth month, she returns. She’s taken on an appearance of a human, small and slight with curves unnatural to any ordinary born Galra. 

“Are you finished?” he asks as she saunters in. Her skin turns tan to brown to the familiar purple of their people. Dark violet hair cascades down her shoulders as she takes her rightful appearance. “Have you watched him enough?”

Larka chuffs in annoyance, heading for the makeshift console she built before leaving him. She tabs open a holographic screen, images erupting from the computer beneath. 

“Is he healthy?” Antok asks. He grimaces at her chuffing. She scrolls through graphs and coordinates and maps. He knows she isn’t reading any of it. She hardly cares what she’s looking at, but her clawed hand scrubs at her closed eyes. “The cub, Larka? Is he healthy? Is he strong?” 

They are more than just field partners and much more than just friends. They are family, banded together to destroy their Emperor’s regime. They trust each other and with her husband so far away in enemy territory, Antok will do anything he must to protect her. 

“The human calls him Keith,” she finally says, scrubbing at her golden eyes before looking back at the console. “He couldn’t read our language, so he gave him that name.”

“Well, at least it sounds similar,” Antok tries to reason.

Larka narrows her eyes and shrugs.

“But the cub… he’s well?” he asks. 

Larka slowly nods. “He is… happy.”

Antok nods, knowingly. He looks up at the Blue Lion, taking in all its lines and angles, the regal bravado of the machine. 

“Perhaps Kythel will find the Blue Lion… perhaps he will pilot it like his mother and Blaytz of Nalquod before him,” Antok says, scratching another sigil into the boulder. 

“The Blue Lion accepted me because it is the friendliest out of the pride. Not to mention King Alfor begged her to accept me,” Larka responds. “Kythel may not be so lucky.”

\--

They sleep during the day. Antok watches her toss and turn. It takes so long for her to ease into a slumber. By the time the sun vanishes and the moon returns, Larka is restless and sweating. Her soft hair sticks to her forehead and neck. She’s in desperate need of a bath. She hasn’t even changed out of the human clothing which has grown tight from her shapeshifting. Her Marmora uniform and armor sits atop the dashboard of their escape pod. He awakens before her, sets out her dehydrated rations and helps himself to his own. When she wakes, she eats in silence before heading to the walls. With a pulsing vigor, she drains a portion of the quintessence from the cave. It pulses soft and warm, threading through her fingers. Antok can feel it tangling through his fur. His tail whips silently, stirring the magic through the air. 

He can feel it percolating, as Larka works through it, with it. She channels it into her hands. It’s void black and swirling with purple luster. Pure energy. It’s raw and it only takes Larka a moment to refine it. It threads, softly turning a shade from violet to lavender to luminescent blue tinged with orange. From each clawed finger, a spark of cerulean emanates, burning bright before cascading across the boulders. The magic drenches across every sigil he carved. He can almost feel the Blue Lion purring behind him, humming lowly.

Larka collapses swiftly, her body dropping to the dirt ground. Antok rushes to her aid, gently picking her up to place her on their makeshift bed of blankets and dirty human clothing. He sweeps a curl of violet hair behind her twitching ear.

“You overwork yourself, Princess,” he sighs. 

Her breathing is soft as she sleeps.

“This is the path you and Thace have given him,” he says, quietly. It will be a while before she wakes again. “His journey will strengthen him, I’m sure of it. But in the absence of your son and husband, you must take care of yourself, too.” 

He presses his forehead against hers in camaraderie.

\--

She sleeps two Earth days.

\--

Larka comes to when the moon rises in the navy sky. The dusty smell of dehydrated rations tickles her nose and with bleary vision, she reaches for them. She chokes down the food, her eyes burning as she cries. Antok comes to her aid with a canister of protein fluid. Larka hastily grabs at the bottle and drinks it down, gasping.

“Slow, Larka,” he says.

“How long this time?” 

“Two moon rises.”

She nods, squeezing her eyes shut. Sweat beads across her forehead. 

“I was dreaming again. Allura and I… we were in her mother’s library. We were hiding from Lotor. He kept teasing us…”

“Larka—”

“I was supposed to be watching him. Mother was angry with me….” She takes another drink from the canister. Larka looks at the walls. The scarred sigils are glowing blue, pulsing with energy. There are new etchings that Antok carved into the wall of the cave. “We need to finish this and return to headquarters. I can only hope that no one finds the Blue Lion here.”

She struggles to stand, even with Antok’s help.

“Rest, Larka, you need more rest,” he says.

“Do you think… my father rests while he colonizes half the known universe?” she asks in mild irritation. “Do you think my brother rests while he and his warriors plot their coups? We cannot fail King Alfor in hiding the Blue Lion. He entrusted me.”

Antok knows he can’t reach her. Not when she is self-deprecating and headstrong and willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good. His chest fills with warmth. Princess Larka of Daibazaal is a Blade through and through. It is an honor that she is their founder and that he works by her side. 

He presses his large hand against her back and guides her to the wall. He watches as the threads of black void coil around her clawed hands, turning deep purple to lavender to electric blue. It washes over the wall, pours across the old sigils and fills the fresher ones. Her dark violet hair crackles with the quintessence, whipping around her face. She doesn’t collapse when she completes the task. Larka wipes her sweaty palms on her clothes. 

“It is done,” she says, her voice small. “We’ll return to headquarters during the next moon rise.”

“It will be dark,” he says. 

“Even better,” she responds. “The humans won’t see us.”

\--

Antok awakes too early. The sun is still at its zenith.

“Antok, Antok,” Larka says, shaking his shoulder. “Antok, wake up!”

“What is it, Princess?” He lets her title slip, but she doesn’t correct him.

“Come listen to the frequency!” 

“Have you even slept?” She ignores his question.

Bleary with sleep, he opens his eyes and immediately attempts to shield them from the light at the mouth of the cave. This planet is so close to its star. Haphazardly he reaches for his mask and fastens it to his face to block out some of the light. He crawls towards the console where Larka sits thumbing through dials and screens until it scans to a channel in use. It crackles with static and a gruff voice starts flowing through the speakers.

_“…contacted us. This is first contact! We’ve been waiting for this and you don’t want us to meet them!_

_“Stephen Hawking warned humanity of this and you want us to invite them here—”_

_“Hawking is of the past. These are different circumstances, Lieutenant Shirogane.”_

_“And you, Lieutenant Iverson, are deranged if you think letting these… these… monsters land on Earth will be beneficial for anyone!”_

_“Calm down!”_

_“Are you serious, Holt? You have a family! You have a son! A wife! You think you’ll be able to protect them from an alien invasion?”_

Antok grimaces. They are too late. Zarkon has found them. 

“What if they’re here for the Lion? We can’t just leave now!” Larka says over a sudden burst of static.

“What?”

“Antok, we have to stay! If he brings druids—”

“Princess!” He shakes his head, grabbing her soldiers. His pale eyes narrowing on her distraught expression. “We completed our mission. We must leave. Kolivan gave us orders.”

“We can’t go.” She repeats. 

He grabs at the console and dampens the frequency channel and then the radio signal altogether. He wants to break it. He should have kept an eye on her. He should have made sure she fell asleep before he did. 

“Antok, we can’t leave. Kythel is here! What if they sense him? What if they come for him? I have to protect my son!”

Antok clenches his jaw, staring at the console that beacons him to smash it to pieces. The Empire is coming to Earth. They’ve expanded this far into a dead zone. They’ll mine these planets and leave the remains to rot. Kythel will certainly be vanquished if the druids suck the planet dry of its quintessence. Yet there’s a chance Kythel will survive. The summit between the human lieutenants and the imperial invaders sounds like there will be more discussion and less bloodshed. He can only hope.

“We have to leave, Princess! Knowledge or death,” he says. “You spoke those words to me at a temple on Gal. You recruited me when I was just a kit. Please, if Zarkon finds you here, everything we’ve done… every sacrifice we’ve made was for nothing.”

Larka licks her lips, her brows furrowed as she mulls over his words. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and she snarls in distress, turning away from him to face the Blue Lion. It towers over them like a celestial goliath and she walks towards it, pressing a hand on its right paw. 

“You’ll call to him when he’s ready,” she says aloud, staring up at its giant head. “You’ll call Kythel of Gal, son of Thace and Larka, Prince of Daibazaal. His journey will start when he feels the quintessence. Promise me!”

The Blue Lion says nothing, but she feels the low thrum of energy pulse through her hand. Larka nods, turning to Antok.

“Let’s go home.”


	3. Close Encounters

The door is small, but familiar. As she knocks, she hears rummaging on the other side and a soft trill that makes her chest ache. The door swings open. The human stands there with a lopsided grin on his face that reminds her of Thace. She feels a pang of guilt and longing. Nothing assuages it. Nothing calms her anymore. She feels on edge, jagged and slowly breaking.

“Hey there, ma’am,” the human greets. “I thought you’d moved on. You said—”

“I want to hold him,” she says, softly, interrupting his endearing twang. “May I hold him?”

The lopsided grin melts into a soft smile and he nods, moving aside to let her in. 

Kythel sits on the floor of the main room. A quilt is spread beneath him and he plays with blocks made of a flimsy solid material. They are nothing like Galra toys, but she can barely remember the toys of her childhood. It’s been a long time. There’s drool on his lips as he gurgles up at her. The human moves to pick him up.

“Okay, big boy, let’s see your momma,” he says.

She swallows a whimper as Kythel instinctively reaches for her. She gently takes the boy, pressing him close, nosing at his hairline and kissing his temple. 

“Why are you leaving him with me?” the human asks, watching her hold Kythel. She’s clinging to the boy, really; he’s the only thing tethering her to this rocky water planet. 

“It isn’t safe where I live,” she says, “and my profession isn’t the greatest environment for offspring.”

Her hold on Kythel is firm yet delicate. She’s almost scared of letting him go.

“What are you?” the human asks. 

\--

She tells him everything.

Against Antok’s honest words and warnings, she tells Mick Kogane everything. About what is to come and what he must do to ensure Kythel lives a normal life away from the Empire. She tells him about Zarkon’s impending arrival whether by proxy or in the flesh. She gives him crucial details of their invasion tactics: cutting off civilian resources, enslavement and work camps, the public humiliation and possible experimentation of the dominant species on Earth. But she gives him a glimmer of hope: the lieutenants’ meeting, the frequency channel he can tune into to spy on the current whereabouts of the Empire on Earth. 

Mick Kogane would be a welcome Blade to their ranks.

Her blade rests on the mantel, a cloth wrapped around its hilt. Larka wants to say that it should be placed somewhere else, hidden away, but she doesn’t have the heart to say it to Mick. He’s taking this better than expected. Even when her body grows taller, her skin lavender, and her eyes golden yellow.

Mick wants to believe so badly, and he does. Even when Larka coaxes Kythel to turn a familiar shade of purple, covered softly in downy cub fur with his father’s yellow sclerae and the pinkish-purple scar from his recently docked tail, Mick still doesn't say anything. He only looks on in awe when he reverts back to his fair complexion.

She attempts to teach him their language, writes the alphabet on a piece of graph paper with a pen and tries to make proper translation notes. She focuses on Kythel’s name, but he quickly settles on pronouncing it as he was: Keith. She smiles and continues on with the hour lesson and even writes Mick’s name in the squarish Galran alphabet. After her brief lesson, he asks questions about what her world was like before it was destroyed and she finds it difficult to remember Drule, the capitol city she grew up in. Larka settles on telling him about the region her father was born in, a desert territory that covered a huge swath of land west of Drule. She remembers the rivers and oceans and mountains. She remembers the snow and thunderous blizzards in the northern territories; snow so blue and wet that it would make bones ache and hide crack if you didn't have the correct fur density. Only one race of Galra with their thick undercoat and large ears could handle that region and it certainly wasn’t hers. 

She tells him stories that keep his eyes wide. For the first time in this man’s life there is concrete evidence that there is life outside of their planet and solar system. Larka doesn’t understand that kind of wonder. Her world was always too large.

“Are you sure your father will kill him?” Mick asks, watching as Larka strokes Kythel’s chubby cheek. The boy's eyes are drooping with drowsiness.

“He’ll execute him and make me watch or he’ll get someone else to do it. He’ll torture me and then he’ll lead an inquisition to hunt down Thace. It will ruin Kolivan’s plans and the Blade of Marmora won’t stand a chance. Thace will work his way up the ranks. He'll be the Blade closest to Zarkon in the end,” she says.

“And keeping the Blue Lion here didn’t attract them? Are you sure?” 

“The last time I was here, you were a very primitive species. I kept out of your way, focused on my mission. I had cast many incantations when I first arrived,” Larka says. “They will stay strong even when I’m far away.”

Despite her words, Larka’s brows furrow with worry. She feels like she’s trying to convince herself that what she’s doing is right for the second time. She strokes her thumb across Kythel’s chubby cheek as he gurgles lightly in his sleep. Her communicator buzzes in the pocket of her pants, startling Mick and Larka. Kythel still dreams. 

“I have to go,” she says. Mick steps forward to take the baby from her arms. The boy still sleeps, curling into Mick’s chest in comfort.

Her womb feels empty yet swollen with grief. She presses her forehead against Mick’s. He doesn’t move when she combs her hand through his hair. She can smell him: rich soil, a crackling firepit, and tangy sweat. She then fishes the communicator from her pocket and tucks it into the front pocket of his jeans. 

“Use this to contact me… if anything happens. If an invasion happens, if you need to run, if Earth requires help, use this. I’ve programmed it to call a secondary device at headquarters.” Her breath hitches at her own words. If she was a stronger Galran female, she would have severed all ties to the child. But she can’t. She won’t.

“Please,” she whimpers, pulling away and allowing her hand to slip from his head. “Please protect him now that I cannot.” 

He nods in a daze as she disappears in a wisp of dark void.

\--

He does protect him. Mick Kogane sacrifices his life for his only son.


End file.
